Anna. Oh, without pity!
Mario. As are the weak. He loves you—he loves you.
Anna. Worse for him that he loves me. He will lose.
Mario. No, it is for you to help him.
Anna. As long as I can.
[Paolo returns with the letters in his hand, goes to the desk and takes out the others, throws them all into the fire-place and lights them.]
Mario. What are you doing? Look, Anna!
[Anna stands rigid, erect and watches the letters burn, and murmurs as though to herself.]
Anna. Gone! Gone! Gone!
[Paolo comes to Anna with hands clinched as though in prayer, bursts into tears and kneels before her. Mario goes off half in contempt and half in despair.]